


Johniarty

by Jimlockian



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 00:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jimlockian/pseuds/Jimlockian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My reflection on the Johniarty fandom via a first person POV, that first looks at John evaluating his feelings for Jim.  Then Jim on his feelings for John.<br/>Drabble-style ficlet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Johniarty

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to all Johniarty fans, one of the smallest ships in this fandom - Soldier on, my friends.
> 
> Credit to Doyle, Moffat, & Gatiss, no copyright infringement intended. Just having fun!

 My name is John H. Watson. I am a healthy, mentally sound man minus one psychosomatic limp and a head full of bad memories. Still, when you look at the state of things in this world, that's not so bad. I count myself lucky for my state of health, especially given the dangerous life I lead.

A huge part of that danger is Sherlock Holmes – a man so intelligent and yet utterly obtuse about the most germane aspects of society. Our life of crime solving does make the underbelly of the law look on you less than favorably. We've had no end of dangerous troubles; from my date being kidnapped and nearly murdered by a giant arrow, to shooting a man dead the night I met Sherlock. That is not the queerest thing though.

The oddest thing of all is I think I'm in love with the man that tried to have me killed.  
  
Not that it was me in particular he was after. James Moriarty had sought out whomever Sherlock had formed an emotional attachment to, and being his flatmate that naturally fell into my jurisdiction. Sherlock Holmes has a social problem, to put it mildly, and yet he immediately took to me in a most peculiar way.

From our first case together he sought my opinion. He let me in when no one else would do. Me, average in every way John Watson. To Sherlock I am more, I am a necessity to the mechanics of his investigations. We work together in a way that goes deeper than friendship because our trust in each other is explicit.

That does not mean I can turn the world to rainbows and sunshine, though. Sherlock is a selfish being that purposefully puts up as many walls as he can. I've breached a few, but a labyrinth still lies ahead of me. Deep down I know and accept this monumental feeling task because Sherlock is my best friend, we work fluidly in complimenting each other every day, and also, failing to support his genius seems like some crime against humanity.

However, contrary to everyone's popular belief, we have no romantic inkings toward each other. Sherlock Holmes believes in transport. I believe in women – or I did, until Moriarty.

Although to be honest I had my share of experiences at university like any other chap, but nothing serious or long term. Since those childish encounters any erotic man on man thought seemed forgotten – even with the stupid comments made because of my closeness to Sherlock. There was only one moment, in Angelo's, where I had the briefest inkling of something with Sherlock but he quickly set me straight on his lack of interest in anyone.

Then I met Jim.  
  
Now, saying that the man who strapped me to a vest that was rigged to explode has suddenly become the figure of my erotic dreams makes it sound like I'm not batting on a full wicket. I know that. The problem is, Jim Moriarty is so much more than just a mad Irish lunatic.

Jim is on par with Sherlock's great brain, yet he is personable. Not to mention that debonair way he can get when the psychosis is not in full swing. There is a playful quality to Jim that made every word said at the pool seer into my brain. I can recall his musky scent when I grabbed him to let Sherlock get away, and I even remember how I felt although the bulky feeling of Semtex does taint that memory a bit.

So, I am in love with a consulting criminal and no one can know it. All I can do is soldier on.


	2. Moriatson

 My name is James Moriarty. They call me Jim. I am a healthy man of Irish decent with the mildest streak of a temper. Still, when you look at the state of things in this world, that's not so bad.

A huge part of the world's present state is my business – I control the darker aspects of society. My life of crime has consumed most of my adult years. It started with Carl Powers when I was only just a lad. Now it has spiraled into the greatest crooked web that the word has seen since -criminal from VOF who came before Moriarty- That is not the queerest thing in my life though.

The oddest thing of all is I think I'm in love with the man that I had nearly killed.  
  
Not that it was him in particular I was after. John Watson merely picked poor associations, and I was seeking the best way to needle Sherlock Holmes, my latest pet project. As average as John might appear, both Sherlock and I know different.

That genuine man is a diamond in the rough. He thinks he is average, but he has no idea what the real average is in this world – tarnished, that's what these people are. Not John. John creates a poetic effect on me, though he has no idea. We rarely get to interact, except when there is a gun between us – his, or one of my snipers. Still, that just makes it more erotic in my opinion.

That does not mean I can turn the world to rainbows and sunshine, though. Sherlock is a selfish being that keeps John to himself. I've fought to get closer to John, sending him the best hints I can although I suppose since he misinterpreted the bomb-laden vest that the road still lies ahead of me. Deep down I know and accept this monumental feeling task because John Watson is worth the effort. If there was no effort, I don't think I would be half as interested.

Although to be honest with myself, I will admit a great part of my interest in John is his unadulterated loyalty and kindness. Part of me wants to break that. A smaller part wants to see if John can break me. Since my youth such affection has eluded me. There was only one moment, with my back against John and his arm around me by the pool, that I thought perhaps a little sensual affection might be an interest worth renewing.

Then Sherlock ruined it.  
  
Much as I adore our games, there is the issue of it getting in the way of my roundabout developing interest in John. Sherlock Holmes must be constantly assaulted with new cases to keep our continuous tête-à-têtes alive. The problem is, Sherlock Holmes is so much more than just an ingenious English sociopath.

Sherlock is below my great brain, it is true, yet he is so much closer than anyone else has come. What we have is psychotically platonic – a nefarious volleyball game. My problem is keeping my eyes on the ball always mean they're off John. I can have my skirmishes with Sherlock, or court the man I want, but not both.

So, I am in love with an army doctor and no one can know it. All I can do is fight and burn.


End file.
